The Aftermath, Maxon's POV
by supergirls2008
Summary: The aftermath of America's speech about dissolving the castes on the Report, from Maxon's POV
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own the characters of the Selection. I have most of the rest of this story written! I will try and upload a new chapter every few days. Also read my other story, The One: Unbroken**

America stood in the middle of the stage. I could feel my face harden, tucking my emotions away. This could not be happening. The girl I loved was about to destroy me. My father stormed over to her, yelling about the diary.

"Father, stop!" I jogged up to them, my heart pounding. The girls were all watching, terrified. I needed to get control of this.

"Where did she get this? Answer me!"

I confessed, warily, trying to protect us both from his wrath. "From me. We were looking up what Halloween was. He wrote about it in the diaries, and I thought she'd like to read more."

"You idiot," he spat. "I knew I should have made you read these sooner. You're completely lost. You have no clue of the duty you have! She leaves tonight. I've had enough of her."

My heart plummeted. I wanted to scream at her, hug her, hold her, never let her go. Why, America? I knew it wasn't her fault, she didn't understand my plans. I had been contemplating the castes since she had arrived, but this was not the way to go about changing anything! What did she think was going to happen?

"You can't send her home. That's my choice, and I say she stays," I responded, trying to remain calm. I didn't want him to know how truly important she was, for fear he would use that information against me.

"Maxon Calix Schreave, I am the king of Illéa, and I say—"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Could you stop being the king for five minutes and just be my father?" This was going downhill fast, but I needed him to see reason, to see his son standing here. "This is my choice. You got to make yours, and I want to make mine. No one else is leaving without my say so!"

"Amberly, take this back to where it belongs," he said, shoving the book in her hand. She stood there, nodding her head but not moving. "Maxon, I need to see you in my office."

It was then the panic engulfed me. Years of conditioning had taught me that nothing good could happen after hearing those words. Thinking of standing in his office... leaning against the chair... the pain... I looked at the source of this problem. Beautiful, America. The truth is, I'd forgiven everything she'd done and everything she could do long before today. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

"Or," my father continued, "I could simply talk to her." He gestured over to America.

I felt my heart stop. "No," I said quickly, trying to hold back my fear and fury. I felt my mistake, he had figured out her importance to me. But her pain was too much to bear. "That won't be necessary. Ladies," I said, turning to the girls, keeping my voice calm, "why don't you all head upstairs? We'll have dinner sent to you tonight." I paused, looking towards the woman I loved, knowing how much this was going to hurt her. "America, maybe you should go ahead and collect your things. Just in case."

Her face was shocked, unreadable.

My father smiled, and I could see his satisfaction, he knew he would break me. "Excellent idea. After you, son."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am having trouble with Maxon's train of thought during this. He is angry at America, but still loves her. Yet somehow he is convinced by his father to send her home. I would definitely take any insight into consideration :) Thanks for reading!**

I felt deflated. It was already over. I knew before it even started, I had already lost. All the work I had done, training for this moment, when I could finally take him. It was all for nothing. At the end of the day, he was going to win and there was nothing I could do about it. I knew how this would go. If I didn't agree to his terms, he would beat me unconscious. Or worse, now that he realized how much America means to me, he would drag her in here and make me watch.

America.

I looked up at her as I walked out the room. She looked distraught. I opened my mouth to assure her that I would take care of this, that everything would be alright. At that moment, my father's grip on my shoulder tightened and I dropped my head to the floor as my father forced me out of the door.

America. I had never before had such a strong reason to fight. If only i knew that she felt the same as I did towards her, I could have ended this a long time ago. This was my fault. I had ignored her, fought with her, favored Kriss. I had panicked when America had pushed me away, it shattered me. Despite the never-ending torture of my life, I had never been in so much pain as I had those days without her. Almost from the moment I had laid eyes on this girl, I had fallen head over heels. And now I was seconds away from losing her.

I shivered slightly at that thought as we continued our march down the hall. We passed guards and maids, all of whom stayed far out of our way. It didn't take an expert to read the look of fury in my father's eye. Every rasp of my father's breath sent a chill down my spine. I knew he was plotting his revenge.

I kept my eyes to the floor, trying to think of a way out of this. Those moments after the report, I had never spoken to my father that way before. I couldn't imagine how he would react to my outburst. I wanted to run, to fight. But all my work to try and make that dream a reality had disappeared as soon as I saw the hatred, the contempt, my father displayed towards America. One wrong move on my part and he would make good on his veiled threat.

"I could simply talk to her," he had said, as though he was going to ask her in for tea.

I had to endure this. It might be my last chance to do anything for America. Even if I lost today and she had to leave, at least she would be safe from this.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Please follow, favorite or review! I may have slipped in a few quotes from another favorite series of mine, let me know if you notice!**

My father squeezed my shoulder roughly as we turned a corner, causing me to stumble. One of the two guards posted outside his study took a step towards me, as if to help, but my father dismissed them both. For a split second, half of me wanted to yell, to order them to stay. But I knew there was nothing anyone could do. This was my secret, and I alone could bear it.

My father shoved me into the room and calmly walked towards his desk.

"Father," it was always better to get ahead of him, "What America said was wrong. I accept full responsibility for providing her the diaries, I had no idea they would be so… troublesome… for us."

My father laughed, "No, I suppose you didn't. Well after today I will make sure you remember their importance to our family and to Illia." My heart raced, I knew how he would make me remember. "Chair," he ordered.

I knew the drill. I grabbed one of the wooden chairs from a table near the wall and brought it to the center of the room. As I slowly removed my shirt, I remembered the first time he had brought me into his office. I was around 11 and I had been caught doodling during a meeting. The advisor who pointed it out thought it was a joke, but one look in my father's eye made it clear that he thought it was no laughing matter. He had always been harsh with me before, but only went as far as shoving me around or slapping me a few times. When he dragged me in here the first time, I felt like I would die from the pain. Before he left, he made it clear that I was not to tell anyone else about our little "talk", and slashed me an extra time to drive home that point. It had been years since that happened, but somehow those first cuts were still fresh in my memory.

My father started talking, his rage simmering barely below the surface. "I didn't realize I had such a fool for a son. What kind of person have I raised, who would risk this country for a stupid girl."

I stared at the floor, not listening as he berated me, It wasn't as if he hadn't said it all before. My mind wandered to the most recent time I had visited his office, the night Marlee and Carter had been caught together, the night I had spent dancing in America's arms. When word reached my father that I would have them caned instead of killed, he exploded. "15 strokes each for embarrassing my family's name? Then I'm sure you won't mind taking the remainder yourself." I had been torn from my America-driven bliss and wasn't prepared for the onslaught of the hard reality of my life. I tried taking a swing at him, but he whacked me over the head with the butt of the whip, which knocked me to the floor. He didn't pull me back up, instead taking out all his anger on my back, making me regret my one act of defiance.

I stood, leaning against the chair for support, knowing tonight could not be the same as last time. As if to emphasize the point, my father brushed his whip across my back. "It is a shame that America had to miss this. I'm sure if nothing else, one look at your back would send her running," he chuckled.

I hung my head in shame, accepting it was probably true. Years of scars and dead skin covered my back. Due to my own pride and my father's threats, I always carefully kept covered and avoided any activity which required me to remove the heavy suitcoats I preferred. If anyone ever found out, I would be horrified.

I was jolted from my thoughts as the first lash hit my back. I felt it cut me, but knew it was just a warm up. I bit my tongue to keep from making a noise. Staying as silent as possible made me feel stronger, less helpless. But it also had the disadvantage of making my father even angrier the longer I resisted. It was only a matter of time before he would get the reaction he wanted out of me.

He stood behind me, admiring his work. He liked to stretch this out and reveled in the anticipation. The never-ending dread was why I rarely slept, he had a habit of making me think I had won an argument, only to have me dragged from my room in the middle of the night when I wasn't expecting him. It was easier to be constantly prepared, constantly on-guard for an onslaught. He leaned close and shoved a finger in my new welt. I gasped and my knees buckled. "Is she really worth it, Maxon?"

When I gave no reply, he stepped back and hit me twice more. I struggled to stay quiet and on my feet under the force of his anger. "When you leave here, you will send her home. One of the other girls will do just fine as your wife," he spat out the last word.

Dizzy with pain, I tried to stay standing straight. "No," I whispered angrily. "It is my choice."

Enraged, my father hit me again, twice as hard, and intensified by my other wounds. This time I let out a groan and fell to one knee. I tried to steady myself, although I felt like I would vomit from the agony coursing through my back. It wasn't like I hadn't been here before, but I had never wanted to resist like this. How could he take this one thing away from me, the one shot I felt I had of making my own decision, of finally having someone on my team. I despaired, realizing that he had probably never intended to let me have this one slice of happiness. I thought of America's soft red hair, her warm smile. Knowing I might never see her face again or hear her melodic laugh was almost too much to bear. Today she had betrayed me, shattered my trust. And it was clear that my father would do anything in his power to keep her out of the palace. But I couldn't give up on the one person I had ever loved.

"In addition, I think you have lost the privilege of making this decision at all. Anyone who could fall for that appalling girl will make a poor king, wouldn't you agree?" He said to himself. He traced one of the new welts on my back with his finger. The pain was incredible. He leaned closer, "She. Is. Leaving."

"No," I said, although even to my own ears I sounded uncertain.

As he paced around me, rage set to detonate; I began to pray to whoever was listening. Not for this to be over, because I knew it would be soon. But for the strength to send America away. Even if I'd never had courage before, I prayed for the strength to face her without falling to my knees and begging her to stay.

My father walked around the chair next to which I was kneeling, two hands on the whip. He was shaking with anger. Usually once the lashes started, I was fairly quick to let him win. I knew there was no point in causing myself more pain, he always won in the end. But my heart ached at the thought of America walking out of the door.

He gripped the whip tightly with both hands. I tried to stand, knowing at this angle the damage would be worse. He kicked me back down and in a sudden explosion, brought the whip down on my back. I felt the deep cut from my shoulder to my lower back and finally screamed. I toppled over onto my injured shoulder, gasping for breath, fighting unconsciousness. My father smiled, satisfied. "I think we have come to an understanding?" he questioned.

Agony and despair poured down on me. There was nothing I could do. For a split second, the pain in my back overwhelmed the pain in my heart and all the fight left my body as I laid panting on the floor. He took my silence as agreement, and I allowed it. What could I say? How could I ever make him agree to allow me to marry her now? I had lost her as soon as she pulled out that diary, and nothing I could say, no amount of pain I could endure on her behalf would change that. He stood up, walking to the en-suite bathroom and rinsing off his whip, before returning to his desk. He proceeded to pick up a stack of papers, dismissing me with a flick of his hand like nothing had just happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews! There is something up with Fanfiction's reviews right now so I can't respond, but they mean a lot! I love Maxon's character and I love to hate Clarkson, so this has been really fun to write! I have at least a chapter or two left still to go, it is mostly already written, but I really spend a lot of time trying to think everything through in Maxon's perspective. For those of you asking if I am going to write this through the One... Yes! Sort of :) I have been working on another story which would be in Maxon... AND **drumroll** ASPEN's *gasp* POV from when Aspen and America are caught in the hall through the end of the book. I was inspired by America thinking in the epilogue that she would never understand what had passed between them... Let's find out! It is called "Yours to Break" and the first chapter will be published momentarily.**

As I stumbled down the back staircase to the infirmary, I thought of how I would tell my America that she was going home. My time with her had been a disaster from the start and my head was screaming to me that I should have sent her home long ago. But my heart… the thought of being back to the beginning and trying to fall in love all over again… it was overwhelming. Sure, Kriss was nice and would be a steady and good choice. But the passion and aching I felt when I was around America had yet to be felt around any of the other girls.

Checking in both directions to make sure no one was around, I snuck into the hospital room where had been storing my metal box. Suddenly, I fell against the wall, recent events too much for me to take. I felt like punching the wall, but that was too much effort. The image of myself kneeling on the floor was so embarrassing. I'm the prince and I couldn't stop him from sending America home. With a sinking feeling, I opened the door back into the hallway and immediately groaned as I hit something, my legs weakening with the reopening of my wounds, almost dropping me to the floor. I looked up to see America staring wide-eyed at me. The ache was intense, but it was unexpectedly radiating from my heart. Standing before me is the woman I loved, the woman I had imagined spending the rest of my life with. The woman that could no longer be mine.

"What are you doing out of your room?" I asked, picking up the box I had dropped slowly and carefully, hoping she wouldn't guess of its contents.

"I was going to the gardens. I'm trying to figure out if I did something stupid or not."

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes briefly and thinking of my blood-filled suitcoat. "Oh, I can assure you it was stupid."

"Do you need help?"

"No," I said quickly, looking to the floor. I tried to stand up a little straighter, to look less on the verge of collapse. "Just heading to my room. And I suggest you do the same."

"Maxon." The sad plea in her voice made me finally look into her eyes. Through all the pain she was causing me, the love I felt for her was never going to be beaten out of me. "I'm so sorry. I was mad, and I wanted to … I don't even know anymore. And you were the one who said there were perks to being a One, that you could change things."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not a One." There was a silence between us. I was so frustrated at myself for pushing her away, and at her for betraying me. "Even if you were, did you not pay attention at all to the way I'm doing things? It's quiet and small. That's how it has to be for now. You can't go on television complaining about the way things are run and expect to have my father's, or anyone's, support."

"I'm sorry!" She cried. "I'm so, so sorry."

I paused for a moment, thinking of all that had happened and wondering if there was any way to undo the damage of the last hour, but once again failing. "I'm not sure that…"

We heard the shouting at the same time. I turned and started walking, America following behind. God-awful timing for a rebel attack. How was I going to make it to the saferoom? How would I survive the hours in that room with my wounds untended, my father smugly watching my torture?

A guard was shot in front of us, and I pulled America behind me with my bad shoulder. Black spots danced in front of my eyes as a spasm overcame me.

"Your Majesty!" a guard called, racing over to us. "You have to get downstairs now!"

He gruffly turned me around and shoved me away. I cried out in agony and dropped the metal box again.

"I won't make it," I said, clutching the wall. I could feel the sweat pouring down my neck, the blackness waiting to envelop me.

"Yes, sir," the guard said grimly. "This way."

I instructed the guard to let my mother know I was alive before the safe room door slammed closed, leaving me alone with America.


	5. Chapter 5

I leaned against the wall, grimacing at the thought of spending the next few hours locked in this room, unable to treat my back. The excruciating thought was only mitigated by the fact that at least my father wasn't here to watch me sweat it out, I'm sure he would have enjoyed watching me struggle. Pulling myself together, I slowly ran my hand against the wall, finally finding a light switch.

Concern was written on America's face. "At least this is one of the good ones," I said lightly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension as I hobbled over to the bench to sit.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said quietly, propping my head in my arms. Agony was coming in waves, I was trying once again not to vomit. Across the room stood the girl I thought I might never see again and all I could do was try to stay conscious.

"I'm guessing those were Southern rebels?"

I nodded, trying to think of anything besides the pain coursing through my back. I focused on her breathing, relieved that she was okay. Satisfaction coursed through me, at least I had protected the one I loved. I shook my head, trying to get that thought out of my head. I couldn't love her. This was over, there was no way for me to stop her from going home, I had failed.

"Are we safe here?"

"Yes. This is one of the places for servants." I explained slowly about how the safe rooms worked, trying to distract myself with the task of answering her questions. I took my time explaining, shifting constantly to try and alleviate the pain. Finally, I leaned forward, hissing as it felt like my cuts were dealt all over again.

"Maxon?"

"I can't …" I whispered, resigning myself to the fact, "I can't take it anymore. America, help with my coat?"

I tried to stay focused, but felt so woozy. In the back of my mind, I knew this was not a good idea. I dreaded the pity, horror and disgust which would likely overtake her. I sighed, realizing it would make the task of sending her home easier if she was running out the door. She gingerly helped me remove my suit coat. I had imagined her doing this a hundred times, but I hadn't imagined being in so much pain. Realizing there were only seconds left before she would learn my secret and dismiss me from her heart forever, I grabbed her hands.

"Your record for keeping secrets isn't that impressive right now. But this is one that goes to your grave. And mine. Do you understand?" She nodded and started to unbutton my shirt. Her eyes widened as she saw my chest and I closed my eyes, bracing myself for her reaction.

"Slowly," I said, as she began to remove the shirt, which was sticking to my back, soaked in blood. She walked around my back and I heard a gasp. I didn't look at her, I didn't want to imagine the shocked look on her face. I didn't hear movement for a while, as I stared at the floor. I wanted to be anywhere else right now, away from the woman who still had my heart and was shattering it on the floor. This was far worse punishment than the blows themselves had been.

I finally heard her rustle around and turn on the sink. "This might sting a little," she warned.

"It's okay," I whispered sadly, giving weight to my words. "I'm used to it." I am used to the pain, it is true. But not this deep feeling of shame coursing through me. I knew she was trying to be careful, but every touch of the washcloth was like a needle piercing my skin. I tried to stay still as she worked on the cut remaining from the final blow, the one that had caused me to give up on keeping her here.

It was the guilt from that thought which made me begin talking. "I've been preparing for tonight for years, you know? I've been waiting for the day when I was strong enough to take him on." I thought of the hours of training, the pain I caused myself so I could finally be strong enough to stop him.

"Why didn't you?" She said softly.

I paused, knowing this would hurt her. "I was afraid that if he didn't have me, he'd want you."

Her body froze and I wanted to take those words back. To take everything that had happened between us back.

"Does anyone know?"

"No."

"Not the doctor? Or your mother?"

The thought of my mother finding out made my stomach roll. "The doctor must, but he's quiet. And I would never tell my mother or even give her a reason to suspect. She knows father is stern with me, but I don't want her to worry. And I can take it."

"He's not like this with her," I said reassuringly. "She gets mistreated in her own ways, I suppose, but not like this."

"Hmm," she said. I was sure she was thinking of how to most efficiently extricate herself from this awkward situation. How she could run away from me, my disgusting back, and my monster of a father once and for all.

I hissed as she wiped my back again. "Damn, that stings." I just wanted to curl up alone like I usually do after a beating, to wish away the pain and scheme about how to avoid it again. Tonight I even had that small luxury taken away from me. I tried to slow my breathing, determined not to make another sound.

"I have more sympathy for Carter and Marlee than you know," I said, involuntarily flexing my back and thinking of my own punishment which preceded theirs. "These things take a while to stop hurting, especially if you're determined to take care of them on your own."

"What are the others for?" she asked. "Never mind. That's rude."

I shrugged, if she was leaving anyway, it was nice to have someone to confide in. "Things I said or did. Things I know."

"Things I know. Maxon, I'm so …" I heard her start to cry, the woman who had caused my world to crash down around me, who incurred my father's wrath like no other. She didn't seem disgusted by my back. These were loving tears. I reached my hand around to touch her, trying not to move too much.

"How are you going to finish fixing me up if you're crying?"

She laughed and finished her work of cleaning. It was nice to have someone take care of me. Although I had been taking care of this myself for years, it was difficult to cause myself more pain as I cleaned the wounds. Often I ended up passing out on my bed as I cleaned and bandaged, only to wake up in agony hours later and try again. I'm sure my haphazard attempts hadn't helped the scarring, and I worried of how my future wife would see these scars someday. If America's reaction was any indication, hopefully it wouldn't be as bad as my father had led me to believe, although I couldn't imagine any of the other girls reacting as well as she.

"Do you think there are any bandages in here?" she asked.

"The box," I replied

My heart raced as she opened the box, embarrassed once again that this had happened and I had done nothing to stop it. Does she think of me as less than she did before? Although she hadn't seemed to think too much of me a few hours ago…

"Why don't you have bandages in your room?"

"Sheer pride. I was determined never to need them again."

"This might hurt."

I nodded. I tried to prepare myself, but when the solution touched my skin, it felt like I was on fire. I grunted once, trying to breathe through the shooting pains. As she continued, the ointment began to help, and I felt myself relax under her hands.

I laughed, "I knew my secret would come out eventually. I've been trying to come up with a good story for years. I was hoping to find something believable before the wedding since I knew my wife would see them, but I'm still stumped. Any ideas?" My heart stopped at my words, considering again that the wedding would not be with the bride I'd had in mind. I took a deep breath, thinking of how hard it would be to start over again with someone new. Kriss was a nice girl, but I wasn't sure I could ever look at her the way I looked at America.

"The truth works."

I nodded solemnly, pained. I wanted her here more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. "Not my favorite option. Not for this anyway."

"I think I'm done."

"That's great, America. Better than any job I ever did."

"Anytime." My heart dropped, knowing it could never be true and wishing so deeply that it was.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Please review! I love to read them and it makes me so excited to write. There is at least one more chapter, maybe two left of this story. What do you think Maxon is thinking when they leave the saferoom and says goodbye to America? How does he convince his father to let her stay? I'd love to hear your thoughts**

I looked at her for what seemed like the first time. Her hair was a mess and she had tearstains down her cheek. Drops of my blood splattered her arms and dress, making her look like the artist she was. But it was her eyes I couldn't stop staring at. There was not a hint of repulsion there. They were filled with sadness, regret, and… could it be… love? I quickly erased the thought from my mind. She pitied me, that's all it was.

She turned away and washed out my shirt angrily. I thought of all that had happened these last few weeks, her anger as she gave her speech tonight. I knew some of that was my fault.

"Why don't you ever ask questions I actually want to answer? Don't you want me to explain Kriss and Celeste? Don't you think you deserve that?"

Her posture became rigid. Staring at her, I committed her to memory, feeling guilty doing so, as she would soon belong to someone else. I waited patiently until she sat on the floor in front of me. "I've heard Kriss's version of what happened, and I don't think she's exaggerating anything. As for Celeste, I'd rather never talk about her ever again."

I laughed at the sight of her beautiful face, scrunched up at the thought of Celeste. "So stubborn," I sighed. "I'll miss that," the words felt like a stab in my heart.

"So it's done then? I'm out?" she whispered, her eyes focusing on the floor

I watched her and thought of the rocky road that had brought us both to this point. Her disdain for me the last few days had been obvious. Not that her feelings towards me would change anything; after seeing my father so angry I knew he would never forgive her. Perhaps I could convince him to let her stay, but I would never convince him to let her marry me. "I'm not sure I could stop it now. Isn't that what you wanted?"

She shook her head. "I was mad, I was so mad."

I didn't know whether to be happy that she wanted to stay or devastated that I was going to have to send her away. From the moment we had arrived in this room, she had been nothing but loving and tender, but her actions from the last few weeks had been anything but.

"I thought you were mine," I admitted, unable to look her in the eye. "If I could have proposed to you at the Halloween party, I would have. I'm supposed to do something official with my parents and guests and cameras, but I got special permission to ask you privately when we were ready and have a reception afterward. I never told you about that, did I?"

If I had, would it have changed anything? If I had allowed her to grieve her friend while feeling secure in my feelings for her, would she have confided in me about the diary? I glanced towards her and she shook her head.

Trying to hide the emotion in my voice, I continued. "I had this speech prepared, all these promises I wanted to make. I probably would have forgotten it and made an idiot of myself. Though … I can remember it now." The speech swirled in the back of my mind, each sentence I had planned along with a touch of her face or a light kiss on her hand "I'll spare you."

As I spoke, I flashed back to the dark days after Marlee's caning, where I thought I had lost America forever. When Kriss had first approached me, I didn't think my heart would ever allow another person inside. I sighed, thinking maybe it still wouldn't. Losing America was unbearable.

Did I love Kriss? As the words left America's mouth, my whole body screamed no. Didn't she understand my heart wasn't mine to give? That she had stolen it with her tears the very first time we met? But the companionship, the security I felt when I was with Kriss… could that be love? It was not the burning explosion I felt with America… but is that how love was supposed to feel? Shouldn't I feel grounded by a person's presence, instead of feeling like with a single glance or a word, she could take away my reason to live?

I thought my answer through carefully, more for my sake than hers. "It's different than what you and I had. It's quieter, maybe friendlier. But it's steady. I can depend on Kriss, and I know without question that she is devoted to me. As you can see, there is very little certainty in my world. She's refreshing in that way."

I had been expecting America to ask about Celeste, but that foreknowledge didn't help my extreme embarrassment. I decided it was better not to admit that all that time in her arms, even when I tried to erase all of my worries, I still couldn't help imagining another's arms holding me. I shivered slightly, knowing now that those dreams would never be realized.

"Is it so awful of me to want fifteen minutes of my life not to matter? To feel good? To pretend for a little while that someone loves me? You can judge me if you want, but I can't apologize for needing something normal in my life."

I looked at her again, waiting for her to scream, to yell. To embody all of the feelings I had felt since she pushed me away.

"I get that."

Shocked, I tried to read her eyes. Had she been doing the same with me? Using time with me to make hear heart ache for her ex-boyfriend lessen? I wanted to ask, but resigned myself to the fact that it was none of my business anymore. America was free to return to her ex, who I'm sure would gladly take my place, and if Kriss would have me, I would have a wife in a few months.

Taking a deep breath, I softly asked the question that had been on my mind the whole night. "Did you ever love me?"

She looked away, and it was as if time stilled. My heart was beating so fast, afraid she would say no, but more afraid she would say yes.

"I know that when I thought you were responsible for hurting Marlee, it crushed me. Not just because it happened, but because I didn't want to think of you as that kind of person. I know that when you talk about Kriss or when I think about you kissing Celeste … I'm so jealous I can hardly breathe. And I know that when we talked on Halloween, I was thinking about our future. And I was happy. I know if you had asked, I would have said yes."

I had been so close. How different would my life had been if I hadn't backed down, if I had been brave and told her how I felt.

"I also know that I never knew how to feel about you dating other people or being a prince. Even with everything you told me tonight, I think there are pieces of yourself that you will always guard ….

"But, with all that …" She nodded. That gesture alone was enough for me to feel suffocated. My whole life was before me, but so much of it felt like it was over.

"Thank you," I whispered, unable to control my voice any longer. "At least I can know for certain that, for one brief moment of our time together, you and I felt the same thing."

I held her as she cried, taking in every piece of her. Her smell, the softness of her skin. At this time, surrounded in the glow of our newly expressed love for each other, words were no longer necessary. A sudden question crept into my mind. What if she could stay? Could this be a reward for the misery that had been my life so far? I quickly dismissed the thought.

Would time wash away the ache building in my chest? It felt like the two of us were standing in a tornado, devastation ahead and behind, but stillness in this moment, at the center of it all.

As we laid there, I thought of all the pain in my life so far. I had always assumed that with the Selection, the happiness in my life could truly begin. But perhaps this was it for me, this small slice of happiness, holding the woman I loved in my arms and finally knowing she felt the same. Perhaps I would leave here and never have my happy ending. I realized it was worth it. These few moments with her were worth a lifetime of beatings, the next fifty years of discontentment which would certainly follow when she left. To have loved someone so fully was worth any price.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to sweetwaterspice for talking me through some of this! If anyone hasn't read her stories, they are awesome. This story is wrapping up! Check out my other stories for more from Maxon's perspective.**

In a way, we had said goodbye wordlessly a hundred times throughout the night. Sometimes with kisses, other times with tears. All night we whispered, asking each other questions, digging further into each other's hearts.

When the door finally opened I closed my eyes for a moment, wanting to keep her here in my arms forever, afraid to let her go.

"Your Majesty?" someone asked. "Oh, God! I've found him," he screamed. "He's alive!"

Embarrassed at our closeness, America sat up and straightened herself.

"Were you not able to get downstairs, Your Majesty?" one of the guards asked.

"No. An officer was supposed to tell my parents. I told him to go there first," I replied, trying to make myself look presentable and less like I had broken a few Illean laws. That would be the end of both America and I. The sharp pain in my back as I adjusted myself seemed to emphasize the point.

Ducking out of the saferoom, the destruction stopped me in my tracks.

WE'RE COMING

This was my fault. For not ending the selection, for wanting something good in my life. The large red stains on the plush carpet showed where someone had died to protect me and my selfishness.

The guard was speaking with America. "We've taken the liberty of contacting all the families. It appears the attack on Lady Natalie's family was a direct attempt to end the Selection. They're targeting your relatives to get you to leave."

Pain filled her eyes. "No."

"We're already sending palace guards out to protect them. The king was adamant that none of the girls should go."

"What if they want to?" I spoke up. "We can't hold them here against their will."

"Of course, sir. You'll need to speak with the king."

"You won't have to guard my family long. Let them know I'll be home soon." The words paralyzed me. The guard looked at me for confirmation. I felt like my body was frozen. After all that had happened I was now face to face with reality. I grudgingly nodded.

"Yes, miss," the guard said with a bow.

I interjected. "Is my mother in her room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell her I'm coming. You're dismissed."

I took America's hand. I wished time would slow, allow me a few more moments with her. "Don't rush away. Say good-bye to your maids and any of the girls if you want. And eat something. I know how you love the food."

She smiled. "I will."

Words were escaping me. "You've changed me forever. And I'll never forget you."

"Don't tug your ear with anyone else. That's mine."

"A lot of things are yours, America." Like my heart. And with that thought, the world seemed to fall into place as I made a decision I should have made a long time ago. This wasn't it, I couldn't say goodbye. If my future was on the line, how could I give up so easily? I felt myself straighten. If I was prince of Illea, I wasn't going down without a fight.

"I need to go."

I nodded, not risking telling her my plan. I felt sure she would try and stop me, worried I would get hurt. I kissed her once, not lingering. This wasn't goodbye. I ran down the hall, forming a plan as I went.

* * *

My mother sat on her bed, sobbing into my father's arms. When she saw me, she turned, arms outstretched, "Maxon!" she wailed.

My father stood up stiffly, distancing himself from her, a satisfied look in his eye. "See, Amberly? I told you he would be fine."

I walked into her outstretched arms as she grabbed me tightly. It was everything I could do to not cry out in pain. I carefully removed myself from her arms, taking her hands. "I'm fine mother. I couldn't make it to the safe room," I looked at my father pointedly, and while staring into his eyes, continued, "America saved me." Anger flashed through his eyes, but I could still detect his satisfaction that his royal line was still intact. I was counting on this in order to continue my plan.

"She found a safe room for us," I looked back to my mother. "Without her I don't think I would be alive."

Sobbing, my mother raised both of our hands to her face. I took the opportunity to glare forcefully at my father, only flexing my back slightly as I did so.

She reached up and touched my face lightly. "I am just so happy you are alive. I was so worried. How will I ever thank America for keeping you alive?"

Cringing at her words, my father announced, "It's about time she did something right."

My mother shot him a look of exasperation and he took a step back. "I will leave you two alone, I have work to do." He began to walk towards the door.

"Actually, sir," I stood up, my mother still clenching my hand, "I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment." I returned his stare, not backing down.

"My office," he called, leaving the room. I grimaced before clearing my face and turning to give my mother a kiss. She smiled, her expression completely happy.

I walked slowly towards my father's office, still developing a plan. This conversation needed to be calm, controlled, or it would go poorly for me. I shivered at the thought. My father had only whipped me twice in a row once before, an exquisitely excruciating experience. I stumbled, catching myself. It couldn't get to that or all hope would be lost.

My father sat at his desk, papers in hand. I dismissed the guards and closed the door behind me.

When he didn't look up, I decided to begin. "Father, I was hoping to speak with you about America."

Still looking at his papers, he replied, "I thought we had finished this conversation."

"Father." I waited. He sighed, set his papers on the desk and began tapping his finger on the table.

Taking a deep breath, I continued. "America saved my life today and I believe that merits some consideration. I didn't want to discuss this in front of mother, but I couldn't make it to the safe room." I stared at him, emphasizing the point. "Your… impatience with me earlier almost cost you everything. I almost died today, sir. I saw a guard die right in front of me."

His expression was steady, unwavering, as the silence grew between us. He stood up, "As… grateful as I am that you are alive, that doesn't change the fact that yesterday America tried to ruin our country. She will never be a capable princess and frankly, I can't believe you think she would."

I swallowed hard, preparing my next defense. "What America did was wrong, I completely agree. I have spoken with her and discussed her series of intolerable behaviors. She understands that if she were to stay, it would be in complete obedience to your reign." I kept my head high, my voice calm.

"This is unacceptable," my father pounded his fists on the desk. I jumped slightly, but quickly regained my composure. My hands were trembling, I clenched them together behind my back. "You are letting a girl you have some ridiculous crush on control you. From the first day she arrived she has had you wrapped around her finger. You are the prince of Illea. This isn't about you, it is about what is best for our country.

"I am best for our country, alive. And your temper almost ruined that today. The least I can do is keep America here for a few more weeks. She will no longer be a problem, I promise."

My father stared at me. A sneer spread across his face. "You love her", he scoffed. My face gave me away before I could control it.

He laughed and considered me for a moment. He walked around his desk and sat on the front of it, a few feet away from me. "Your surprise at her speech yesterday was as clear on your face as it was my own. You were not expecting it. Which means she didn't trust you enough to tell you. And why, if she loved you back, would she say such things? She must have assumed she would be removed from the competition if she did."

I looked down, sure I should already have an answer to this. She had said she was mad because of Kriss and Celeste. But why hadn't she trusted me enough to tell me about the diary?

He chuckled again. "Poor Maxon."

I looked up, questioning his words.

"To be in love with a girl who so obviously doesn't care for him. One so temperamental she would rather be kicked out than return his affections." He looked up, musing, "Your feelings towards her have been clear from the beginning. As you haven't ended the selection yet, I assume the hesitation is on her part."

He saw the shame in my eyes before I could hide it.

"You aren't even good enough, even as a prince. And to think, with her unwilling to love you in return, it leaves you only with three to choose from."

My head was spinning. She did love me. I thought back to our time in the safe room. She had never actually said it, but her words had been so sincere. She had just been upset about me spending time with Kriss and Celeste. Celeste. At the thought of her name, I remembered confessing everything to America. "I get it," she had said. What did she mean by that? At the time, I had dismissed the words, thinking she would be leaving soon anyway. But was she really using me like I had used Celeste? To feel better after her breakup, or worse, to get back at her ex?

I looked back up at him, "She does want me," I said softly.

"Then propose," my father said smugly. "That was your plan, right? All those weeks ago? What happened, were you concerned she wouldn't say yes? Propose and we can end this today."

In the safe room, I had been so sure of her affections. But now, faced again with reality, doubt creeped in. From the first day I had met her, I had trusted her implicitly. Her honesty drew me to her, she had seemed completely without strings and strikingly transparent. But these last few weeks, she had been anything but. She had lied about the diary. I had given her everything, poured out my soul, but she remained closed off. When she was angry, she blew up, pushing me away.

"I can't," I admitted, half to myself. "I am not ready to make that decision."

"Then you will send her away," he stated forcefully. "You haven't even considered the others, and…"

"I have!" I interrupted, unthinkingly. "Sir. I have, sir." My mind raced. No, I was no longer willing to risk it all for America. While we were in the safe room, I felt her love, but I so often was faced with her displeasure. I needed time in order to trust her again, and I knew how to buy that time. "Kriss. I have been spending time with Kriss as well, and I believe there is… potential there." I felt guilty admitting it even to my father, like somehow I was being unfaithful to America. But it was true, Kriss was my obvious second choice, and I knew I could do far worse. "Sir, if you would allow me more time with her, I believe America would be willing to prove herself to be obedient." I almost smiled at the thought of that word ever being used to describe America. She was anything but obedient.

He looked thoughtful and I worried what he was thinking. "And if she does not prove herself?"

I swallowed. "Then I will choose Kriss."

He stood up, walking behind me. I flinched, continuing to stand at attention.

My father chuckled, I turned my head to see him standing mere inches away. He patted my back in a pseudo-friendly gesture. I clenched my teeth as a wave of pain spread through my back, but kept my eyes on his face.

"If this goes badly, you will regret the day you laid eyes on that girl." My father said in a low voice, before turning to leave the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks again to Sweetwaterspice for helping me get back in Maxon's head! It is a rather handsome head.**

After visiting with Natalie, I walked as quickly as possible to America's room, hoping she had taken my advice about enjoying a few more hours in the palace. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. When no one answered, I tentatively opened it. "Hello?" My voice echoed.

She was gone. It was as if all of the life, the beauty, she brought to the room had been sucked out. I exhaled sharply. No.

Backing out of the room, I crashed into one of America's maids.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," she curtsied, I noticed her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

"Where is America?"

She stood up, surprised. "She's… she's gone, Your Highness," she stammered. "I thought you knew."

No. I raced down the stairway towards the front door. When I turned the corner, there she was, reaching for the doorknob.

Relief washed over me. "America?"

"Hey," she said.

My adrenaline was pumping, I walked quickly over to her, feeling like I couldn't waste another moment or she would disappear. She looked like a queen in a regal purple gown. It was as if fate was telling me to ignore everything my father had just said about America not being princess material. If only he could see her now, the image of a queen.

"You look absolutely breathtaking," I mustered, unable to take my eyes off her. A few hours ago I was certain I was going to lose her forever. Now we had a second chance. For a few moments I couldn't do anything except breathe in her presence, so thankful to have it once again.

Attempting to rid myself of the onslaught of emotion, I cleared my throat "I've spoken with my father."

"Oh?" Surprise was clear on her face.

"Yes. He was quite happy that I wasn't killed last night. As you might have guessed, carrying on the royal line is very important to him." And now to clue America in to my plan, I hoped she hadn't already done anything to negate the lies I had told. "I explained to him that I nearly died because of his temper and attributed my finding a hiding place to you."

"But I didn't—"

"I know. But he needn't. I then told him that I set you straight on some behavioral things." Stifling a smile again at the thought of her in the context of obedience, I tried to remain calm and business-like. "Again, he needn't know that's untrue; but you could act like it happened, if you wanted."

She nodded.

"Considering that I owe my life to you as far as he knows, he agreed that my desire to keep you here might be somewhat justified, so long as you were on your best behavior and could learn your place." She didn't say anything, but stood there, shocked. Perhaps she had accepted leaving as a viable option. Perhaps she didn't want to stay. Didn't want me anymore. Nervous, I continued, wanting to fill the space I could feel growing between us.

"Really, the fair thing to do is let Natalie go. She's not cut out for this; and with her family grieving right now, her home is the best place for her. We've already spoken."

She still didn't say anything. I stared at her for a moment, drank in the sight of her beauty. Her hand was trembling slightly, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Shall I explain?"

"Please."

I took a deep breath, "You would stay here as a member of the Selection and still be a part of the competition, but things will be different." I flinched slightly, thinking of my father's outburst when I had asked America to stay. There was no way he would be going down without a fight. "My father will probably be harsh toward you and do whatever he can to make you fail. I think there are some ways to fight that, but it will take time. You know how ruthless he is. You have to prepare yourself."

"I think I can do that."

"There's more." I looked down guiltily, unsure of how to continue. To explain my father's feelings towards her was one thing. But to express my own feelings and reservations in the light of day was causing my heart to fracture at the betrayal. Stripped bare and unable to meet her eye, I admitted, "America, there's no question that you've had my heart from the beginning. By now you have to know that."

I peeked up, trying to hold back everything I was feeling. "I do," she said softly.

"But what you do not have right now is my trust," I blurted out, unsure if I would be able to bring myself to say it if I waited a moment longer. Although I realized my father's accusations were meant to make me doubt her, the more I thought about it, the more I felt there was some truth to them. I had given her everything… my heart, my trust. And she had not returned either.

"What?" She whispered, obviously upset.

I tried to remain calm and kept a professional space between us as I continued. "I've shown you so many of my secrets," My soul, I thought to myself. "… defended you in every way I can. But when you aren't pleased with me, you act rashly. You shut me out, blame me, or, most impressively, try to change the entire country."

I continued carefully, needing to compartmentalize my depth of feelings and form a rational argument. "I need to know that I can depend on you. I need to know that you can keep my secrets, trust my judgment, and not hold things back from me. I need you to be completely honest with me and to stop questioning every decision I make." My voice became husky, full of secrets. "I need you to have faith in me, America."

She looked down, "I do have faith in you. And I hope you can see that I want to be with you. But you could have been more honest with me, too."

A pang of guilt hit me and I nodded. "Perhaps. And there are things I want to tell you," So many things. "… but many of the things I know are of such a nature that they cannot be shared if there's even a minuscule chance that you can't keep them to yourself. I need to know that you can do that. And I need you to be wholly open with me."

We stared at each other.

"Maxon, there you are." Kriss said, walking towards us. "I didn't get to ask you earlier if we were still on for dinner tonight."

I didn't take my eyes off America. After the day I'd had, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, catch my breath, revel in my small victory against my father… not plaster a smile on for Kriss. But America needed to understand, I wasn't going to allow myself to be just hers anymore, not until I could trust her to do the same. "Of course. We'll eat in your room."

"Wonderful! America? Are you really leaving?" she asked, coming up to us. I clenched my jaw, watching America carefully for a reaction. She looked back at me and I could tell I had hurt her. But she had to understand, this was my one shot at love. And up until now, she had not taken that… or me… seriously.

"No, Kriss, not today."

"Good. I was really worried about you last night. I'm glad you're okay." I felt guilty. Partially because Kriss was sweet and I had hardly been giving her a fair chance. But also because I was face-to-face with the woman I loved, as well as the woman I had promised my father I would marry if all else failed.

"Thanks, it was lucky the guards got there so fast." I hid my smirk. Neither of us thought that was lucky, we would have appreciated a few more hours wrapped in each other's' arms.

"Thank goodness. Well, I'll see you later." Kriss turned to me and smiled "And I'll see you tonight." I nodded and she skipped away.

I turned to America, my expression serious again. She was watching Kriss saunter down the hall, pain clear in her eyes. "I know you don't like that, but I need her. If you let me down, she's my best bet." A shiver went down my spine. Is that really what this had come to? Anxiety gnawed at me. Would I be left with no other choice but to force myself to fall in love with my only option?

"It doesn't matter. I won't let you down." My heart skipped at the hope in that sentence

She kissed me on the cheek and walked away. I stood, watching her go and felt a knot in my stomach. I felt so empty after having spent so much time with her, it felt wrong to return to sharing my affections with the other girls.

I headed to my room, shutting the door and locking the world out. Collapsing on my bed, I couldn't get the days' events out of my mind.

I still couldn't believe I had convinced my father to allow America to stay. Victories against him were such a rarity. Something about America being here, from the beginning, had boosted my confidence. She made me feel less alone, more in control of my future. Buried beneath the formalities and pleasantries, the constant fear… she had uncovered… me. However, I had a duty to my country, to choose the best queen they could ask for. Right now, I couldn't trust America to be the steady influence I needed. As I had suggested, Kriss contained that quality… but was it enough? Enough to be merely sated by her calming presence, instead of eternally hungering for more? America filled me… completed me… unraveled me.. inspired me in a way the other girls had not. Would I ever be satisfied with anything less?

My hand brushed against the small box located beneath the pillow. I sat up, opening it and looking at the beautiful ring inside. When I had designed it, I had been so full of hope, of certainty. Now I was muddied in confusion. Sighing, I closed the box. I won't let you down, she had said. And I wanted nothing more than that to be true.

 **A/N: Thank you for sticking with me for the last few chapters! I have loved each of your reviews and I can't wait to hear what you have to say about this last chapter. As I have mentioned before, I do have an ongoing story of Maxon's perspective during the end of The One, it is called Yours to Break. Check it out if you are wanting more!**


End file.
